You Are My Miracle
by With Good Grace
Summary: Rachel stays with Quinn in the hospital after the car crash. This is the aftermath. Rated T for some bloody imagery but it's very tame. One-shot


Quinn Fabray shouldn't be alive.

Her ribs are fractured, her spine is severely damaged, and her body is completely covered in bruises.

But she is alive.

The doctor said that I actually saved her life. Because of my text, because she was texting, Quinn slightly swerved away from the edge of the road towards the center. It was this change in position that saved her life. Instead of being hit straight on, Quinn was hit at a slightly lesser angle. Because I texted her.

That's bullshit.

This is all my fault.

I look through the clear glass into her room to watch the faint rise and fall of her chest, the too calm expression on her battered face.

At the base of her chin is a large patch of blue meshing with black and yellow. Her forehead is peppered with small cuts, and her lip is swollen and fat.

How does she still manage to be beautiful?

I take in a breath, but the air burns my throat. I fight the tears trying to escape. Quinn's mother is still stuck in traffic, and I can only imagine what she must be going through.

She's probably crying, mascara running down her cheeks, and furiously banging at the horn trying to weave in and out of the rows of cars to reach her hurting daughter. Her heart is probably pounding, her mind racing, panicking. What mother wouldn't be panicking if her daughter were in the hospital barely hanging onto life?

All of that heartache, and pain, and suffering because I had been stupid enough to text Quinn while she was driving.

This is all my fault.

My chest tightens. I try to force the air down my throat once more. The doctor's won't let me in Quinn's room until her mother arrives. I glance towards the clock hanging above the intensive care unit. Chewing my finger, I tap my foot along to my racing heartbeat.

Suddenly, a doctor comes rushing down the hallway with a distraught woman dressed in a yellow blouse, black pencil skirt, and make up streaming down her face in tow. Her eyes are wide with fear as she approaches her daughter's room.

I watch as Mrs. Fabray's face falls. My throat begins to close. Her hazel eyes take in her daughter, unconscious, bloodied and bruised, lying perfectly still. The silence is deafening.

I watch as Quinn's mother rushes past the doctor to be at her daughter's side.

I watch as she breathes Quinn's name, as she clutches Quinn's cut-up hand, as she sobs in the quiet.

My lip trembles but I swallow down my tears. I don't deserve to cry. I don't deserve to feel pain. My pain is nothing compared to Quinn's. My chest seems to be caving in on itself. I need to sit down.

Somehow I find a chair and shove my head between my knees. Why am I falling apart? I should be strong and put together for the beautiful girl inside whose life is about to change forever. I should be strong for her mother and for the glee club.

The room is spinning. My deep breathing techniques are failing me. The urge to sob, to shatter, to break surges within me, and I have lost the will to fight it.

I cry. For the first time in twenty-seven hours, I allow myself to cry. It's as if a dam has been broken, and I am caught in a riptide of my own sorrow, my own guilt, my own pain. The current is too strong, and I am swept away, hyperventilating alone in the now deserted ICU.

A hand touches my shoulder

"Rachel?"

I try to slow my breathing to address whoever has said my name.

"She keeps saying your name… and I think… she'd want you there and you've been here for so long…" Mrs. Fabray trails off.

She doesn't wait for me to agree. How is she able to be so together, together enough to hold my breaking pieces together?

The room is quiet save for the piercing beep of the monitor. As soon as I'm sitting, Mrs. Fabray leaves without a word. I thank her silently.

I take Quinn's hand on instinct. Her skin is cool, but we fit. My heart is pounding.

"Hi, Quinn," I breathe.

Quinn's face remains peaceful and unresponsive. She's an angel, and I've cut off her wings, causing her to crash to the ground.

This is all my fault.

"I'm so sorry," I sob, frantically kissing her hand.

It squeezes back. I freeze. Did she just…?

"Quinn?"

Her eyes are still cemented shut, but her lip twitches slightly. I'm hypnotized by her, hanging on her every move, waiting for another sign. But it doesn't happen again. I probably imagined her soft hand clutching mine for that split second.

"You're alive," I whisper. "Everyone's saying that it's a miracle."

My breath hitches as I hear the beeping of the monitor increase its pace.

"The doctors said I saved your life," I say, shaking my head, reliving all of the mistakes I have made.

I look down at our hands. The gold band that used to reside on my finger is gone, its weight no longer dragging me down. I feel a ghost of a smile dance across my lips.

"It's funny because they couldn't be more wrong," I whisper, bringing my lips slowly to hers.

"You saved my life, Quinn. You are my miracle."


End file.
